There's a running theme in my life that nothing I intend to do ever happens, and stuff that I am certain I will never do, does. I thought I'd never get an iPod or even lay my hands on a Mac. I thought I'd never get drunk, smoke a cigarette, go to a dance club, buy a BluRay player, become an occupational therapist, decide to do traveling therapy, watch 24, read Harry Potter, enjoy history, or play Xbox. Most of these things I had convictions against because I tend to not do things that I feel are forced upon me by society. When Harry Potter began sweeping the world, for instance, I resisted because I felt I no longer had a choice in the matter. Then, one day when I was headed to the bathroom for what was to be a long trip, I grabbed the first book I could find - a copy of my sister's Harry Potter book lying on the floor by her door. Lo and behold, by page two I was hooked. And within a few years, I knew every last intimate detail of the series, frequently wrote speculative articles for Mugglenet and other forums, formed actual relationships with strangers over the internet solely based on debating Harry Potter topics, and had read every book about three times - two of them in different languages.
So what's the point?
Well...last post, I had made a firm decision that I couldn't live in Pacific Beach.
Guess where I'm living?
We were sitting at the hotel del Coronado one evening having dinner. For whatever reason, our waiter asked why we were in town, and we all had to admit that the girl who previously made a juvenile fit about not getting the "chef's vegetables" with her meal was actually 25 years old and moving to the city for a job. After dinner as we were walking out, my dad struck up a conversation with the man and suggested I get the scoop from a local and ask about the best places to live. At that point, I was pretty married to the idea of living in La Jolla. The region was absolutely gorgeous (even if the apartments turned out to be crap), and our experience at the Pacific Beach "In And Out Burger" only solidified my desire not to live there. But the waiter insisted that the best place to live when you are young and fresh is PB. This bothered me.
To assuage the nagging, I decided that on our way up to La Jolla the next day, we'd take a route that led us through MB and PB - just to check things out. And as expected, it did seem a little seedy. I mean, I was looking through 'brown' colored glasses of course, but even without self-deception, this place was no La Jolla. Then I saw a sign for the Casa Del Mar - the Nazi apartments, and I screeched for dad to halt. I figured while we were here we might as well check the place out.
It was right on Tourmaline beach, as I had feared. Jeff, the manager, took us down the street leading to the famed surf spot and talked about how this was one of the best areas to live - far enough removed from the PB scene, close to La Jolla, and of course protected by his crazy rule system. Suddenly, this all began to seem not so bad. The apartment wasn't too luxurious, but there was one available at a good price with a bit of an ocean view and it was better than any we'd seen in La Jolla. We walked down to Turmo beach and looked down the miles and miles of coastline that would be in my backyard. I saw myself doing all the things I came to Cali for: riding my bike miles up the beachside path, or exploring the college-town like setting of Pacific and Mission Beach. Even sitting on the sand every night reading, writing, and watching surfers catch waves as the sunset spread over the water.
There were luxury apartments in the UTC that were steps from the freeway, boasted cooking classes from world class chefs, movie theaters, two resort-style pools, an entire gym complete with yoga and pilates classes, Berber carpeting and granite countertops. They were the same price as a dinky little place on the beach. In Pacific Beach, to boot. But the UTC was no different than the place I live now, except it was warmer and had palm trees. I didn't want to spend my time in SoCal at the local mall or poolside. I came out here to do something different.
So Pacific Beach it was.
I guess there's probably a lesson in all of that, but as is the running theme in my life, I probably won't learn anything from it. Does anyone ever? Clearly we cannot plan for our futures. My dad fed me a great line from John Lennon - "Life is what happens to you when you're busy making other plans." In fact, it seems that the more you try to select your path, the more likely you are to inadvertently discount the one you were meant to take. Maybe it's a bit much to say that it's all up to fate, but you've got to wonder at the chain of events that led me to this place. The certain restaurant, the certain waiter, the afterthought of asking his opinion, the slight giving in on my part, the street we turned down, the internet site that gave me the name of the apartment building, my compulsion to stop and check it out... Maybe there really is no right answer, but if this is a good one, I'm pretty impressed at how hard fate had to work to counteract my attempts to take the wheel.
There's a lot of things that I once was sure would never be part of my life story: people I was sure I'd never warm up to, places I was sure I'd never be bold enough to visit, activities I never imagined I could get into, things that are now they are such a huge part of my raison d'etre. Throw it all to the wind I guess, and look gratefully upon life's little disappointments. It's proof that someone or something that knows better than you is working to put you back on the right track.
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